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User blog:Drix153/Dude, Where's My Afterlife?
The darkness of the Underworld swallowed her as though it was one of Amascut's beasts. Had it not been for the rush of cold air, Rosaline might have confused this place for the void. But no, she hadn't been devoured... Yet. The impact from her fall had taken its toll. She struggled to draw breath, treasuring each gulp as the tiny miracles they were. It meant she was still alive. Still here. But then, so were the monsters. Despite the panic taking root in the furthest reaches of her mind, Rosaline fought the urge to struggle against her fate and scream. It would only draw their attention to her faster. Instead, she shut her eyes and listened. They were all around her, she knew; at least ten, including the one that dragged her through the rift in the first place. Damn that hob and his god... Had she the use of her legs, then maybe she could have made a break for it. But that wasn't an option anymore. Whatever power that had inside her from killing Yokrad was gone, spent entirely in the fight to protect her home, her family and friends. So much good that'd been, in the end. Rosaline bit back the tears in her eyes. The past was unimportant now. Not only was she going to die down here, the faces of these beasts would be the last thing she ever saw before... nothingness. That scared her more than anything. Would she remember them and their gaping maws, the hunger in their eyes? Or would her soul become trapped within whichever beast devoured her first? Would she ever see the faces of her children again? There was the crunch of footsteps all around her now. Something roared close to her, sounding vaguely familiar. It was like an animal she'd once heard while visiting a travelling zoo as a child with her parents and brother. Suddenly she had the urge to laugh, but cast the pervasive thought away just as quickly. Each second that passed became more precious than the last, and Rosaline didn't want her last act be laughing in the face of oblivion. She only wanted to live now; to hold Linold and Joanne close to her and feel them in her arms. Hell, either Serafino or Joe would be a welcome sight now. Most of all though, she wanted Ptolemy with her. Even now she could smell the musty odour that clung to him from the museum. It made her both happy and sad. She would lose that too. Seconds continued to pass. Rosaline felt something cold brush against her arm and jerked it away. This was it. She could see the eyes of the monsters now, glowing and growing closer in the dark. She wanted to scream, but sheer terror stole her breath. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't obey. So she did the only thing she could do. Rosaline closed her eyes and lost herself in the musty smell of her dead lover. Nothing happened. Or... nothing didn't happen. Rosaline could feel the black sand between her fingers, the coldness around her still. Were they toying with her? She wanted to shout at them to hurry up and do it, but she didn't. Something had changed. Afraid of what she might see, but even more afraid of what she might miss, Rosaline opened her eyes and saw the truth of it. It was a wisp before her now, in the place of the monster that had been. It glowed softly, bathing the area in light. The other monsters hovered just outside its reach, growling and screeching their inhuman cries. The musty smell was still there, Rosaline realised. Could it be...? The wisp took form, its edges stretching before softening into a humanoid shape, complete with a head and limbs. One of the beasts drew close—too close—and was consumed by the light. Its essence peeled off its dark form and flowed into the wisp, filling it and giving definition to its figure. "Gods' wounds, but are we in trouble now." Rosaline couldn't believe her eyes. It was Ptolemy Dean. But that was impossible. He was supposed to be dead—perhaps more than that. If he actually was here with her, defying these monsters was way beyond his capabilities... or so she believed. Something about Ptolemy was different... Before she could ponder the matter further, her thoughts were interrupted as the devourer beasts around them growled. A shift in their ranks revealed the largest of the beasts approaching them. Its indistinct outline was that of a massive crocodile, although its smile was more sinister than a madman's darkest thoughts. This time Rosaline did scream. Even Ptolemy seemed perturbed by its presence, yet when he spoke it was as though the two were back in Varrock conversing over a glass of Draynor Malt. "We don't have much time." His familiar voice broke through the fear freezing Rosaline in place and warmed her despite the coolness of the Underworld. "You'll have to move quickly if we're to escape these creatures." Perhaps the futility of their situation lent Rosaline some form of strength, for all of its emptiness. "I can't," she breathed, her words surprisingly even. "My legs." That was all she had to say. Ptolemy regarded her with a faint smile. Then the monsters were upon them. Rosaline couldn't remember a time when she was more afraid than when the soul devouring crocodile advanced toward her. She saw its grin widen and the hungry abyss that was the void shift behind it. Yet even for all her fear, it was a small comfort to know that she wasn't alone; he who had captured her heart despite her knowledge of what he truly was. It hadn't mattered then and it didn't matter now. That he stood with her here was enough. They were together again. Rosaline met Ptolemy's eyes and hoped that her children would know she tried. "Get up, Rosaline. On your feet." He was speaking to her again. Through some miracle the soul devourers hadn't reached them yet. Rosaline dared a look and discovered the monsters were now attacking each other. She watched as the crocodile singlehandedly devoured an entire gorilla—the one Drok had summoned to drag her into the Underworld, she realised—all the while its great tail thrashed wildly about the others, knocking them aside and crushing those caught beneath its swing. "We have to go. Now." Ptolemy knelt beside her and offered her a hand. Now that he was closer to her Rosaline could see the faint blue gossamer that coated his skin, his clothes. Rosaline hesitated, but as the shrill cries of the monsters drew closer, she reached out and took his hand. "Run," he urged, twinkling at her even as his form disappeared. And she did. If there truly was a creator-god, Rosaline would have kissed it then and there. Somehow Ptolemy's actions had given her the strength to stand. All about her the monsters fought, but more than a few were taking notice of her now. She put one foot down, testing it, and then the other. The black sand crunched beneath her toes; it felt like broken glass, but at least she could feel with them again. One of the devourer beasts came at her and was knocked aside by the crocodile. Rosaline took advantage of the moment and rushed through the gap left in its wake. Narrowly avoiding a leopard as it lunged in her direction, Rosaline ran until her breath came out in ragged bursts; her lungs felt like they were on fire and the Underworld's cold only made it worse. Yet she was alive, and that meant something; she knew somewhere behind her was a horde of hungry monsters eager to put a stop to that. Despite her body's protests, Rosaline kept running until out of the purple clouds rose a steep cliff face. And then she started to climb. Scaling cliffs was a recreation Rosaline had little experience with. She continuously fell short and lost her footing too many times to count. Her muscles screamed at her to lie down and rest. She even found herself pausing for longer than she should have. Yet it was always the thought of the monsters in the fog banks below that kept her from stopping altogether. Were the monkeys faring better than her? It wasn't something she planned on finding out. She kept reaching for the next handhold and struggled with rocks that cut into her fingers and made them bleed. All the more for her to keep fighting. Sometimes Rosaline would hear Ptolemy's voice encouraging her. She even saw him there with her—just out of reach—one hand extended to help her over the next ledge. In time she reached the top of the cliff. Pulling herself up, Rosaline stumbled forward onto her knees and began to sob. The cries of the devourer beasts below her were gone, swallowed whole by the great expanse of the Underworld. Where she had clambered out of was a giant crater; an endless sea of purple clouds that churned and roiled with ominous thunder. "You're not safe yet." Ptolemy's voice said to her. She looked around for him and found his silhouette a short distance away from her. "Only a little while longer." "Where are you taking me?" Her voice was cracked and dry, and she wanted nothing more to quench her thirst. She recalled a river from her first passing. If only they could find it... "Somewhere safe. The creatures won't trouble you there," he added, "for a time anyway." Rosaline shook her head. She couldn't keep going like this, not without resting. "I need rest. Water." But there was to be no arguing. Ptolemy reiterated the need to reach their destination before disappearing as he had earlier. Rosaline fought the urge to stay where she was and set off the direction Ptolemy had indicated. A few hours passed before she found what he'd meant. It was a temple—at least the desiccated ruins of one. Her heart immediately sank. She knew no water would be found here. Still, it was the only structure she had come across so far. Maybe the monsters didn't know it even existed. Rosaline trudged over to it, avoiding the debris strewn around its entry point. It looked to her like someone or something had dropped the building from a great height and didn't bother to clean up afterwards. "You're right about that." She glanced over her shoulder and spotted Ptolemy picking through dusty canopic jars. "Judging by what's left of the pylon outside and the sunken relief scenes, I'd say this temple was once a place of worship for Icthlarin's priests." Ptolemy dusted off his hands and pointed out the canopic jars. "Jackal-shaped lids as well. Perhaps this was where they performed the last rites of the dead once the embalming process was complete. I'd even go so far as to guess that Amascut's followers had a hand in this getting here. Can you imagine?" Rosaline sighed after he was done. "Stop. Please." She needed a moment of silence to clear her mind. Ptolemy quieted with a look of concern. Funny. She'd forgotten all about his rambling lectures... "I don't understand. You're supposed to be gone. So how are you—" "Here?" Ptolemy interrupted, finishing her sentence. "Well, you're here. It only makes sense that I would follow." The look on her face must have been enough to explain further. "This place," he said as he indicated the ruined temple and beyond, "is different than up there." She didn't need to be told where he meant. The realm of the living. Gielinor. Home. "After I passed, I was..." Ptolemy struggled to find the words, as was evident by his languid gesticulations. "You know how you feel when you're on the edge of awakening yet simultaneously aware of your thoughts and fading dreams? That's where I was." Rosaline nodded absently. "You're dissatisfied with that." It wasn't a question and she knew Ptolemy didn't need an answer. His face suddenly seemed to age and grow heavy with grief. "You know I'm not really him. The Ptolemy you knew was unique and isn't something that can be replicated or remade. He was human in every way that mattered. It's what attracted you to him in the first place." She couldn't argue with that. Something about his innocence had drawn her to him. But it wasn't the reason she stayed. It was more than that. Seeing Ptolemy live as he did, despite everything his true self had done and would go on to do, gave her hope that maybe she, too, could the same. So far though, she hadn't. Rosaline allowed his words to sink in. So this wasn't him. "Then what are you?" she asked. It was something she needed to know, in case they were lost down here forever. The thing with Ptolemy's form looked uncomfortable answering. "What are you?" she repeated more forcefully. "You carry his memories with you. What he was to you—what I am—are those impressions made manifest." He hesitated. "Like an imprint in clay. I'm him as much as you want me to be. No more, no less." Maybe she should have been more surprised. Maybe not. But Rosaline was much too exhausted to do much more nod again. So Ptolemy was gone after all. "That's not true." Ptolemy's copy must have read her mind again. She hated when people did that. "I said you carry his memories with you. That's not gone." it suggested. "Those are as real as you or me." "Well, whatever you are," she huffed, "you certainly know how to irritate me as he did." That got it to smile again. She always did like his smile. "Rest now. They can't reach us here." Rosaline wasn't as convinced as it was. Nonetheless, she couldn't recall a time her eyelids had felt so heavy. She laid down among the ruins and fell asleep as soon as her head touched the cool stone floor. Dreams had always come easy to Rosaline. Perhaps when she served as a host for Ptolemos a bit of him still lingered inside her. It wasn't a very cheery thought, but it would explain the often nightmarish scenes that plagued her while she slept. Yokrad dreams were twice as bad and strangely thrilling. She kept that last part to herself. Yet down in the Underworld, within Icthlarin's ruined temple, Rosaline's dreams were unlike nothing she'd ever experienced. She recognised the black sand and the purple fog. For a moment Rosaline was scared that she'd never left that damned crater with its soul eating beasts. She had though and realised that when spectral figures emerged from the fog and approached her. Pieces of the purple clouds clung to them like dew-drops. As they got closer, Rosaline realised with a start that she recognised most of them. Steven. Richie. Fykeric, Sacheverell, and Alorah. Many from the Hand of Ptolemos stood with them, including that worm Alaric. They crept closer until finally they surrounded her in a semicircle, familiar faces and some not so. She recognized one standing next to Sacheverell as an icyene. Helisende? Rosaline was too stunned to say or do anything. She could only stand and look upon the faces of those she'd lost, killed, or had gotten killed. Most of them looked content. Some, like Alaric, had faces contorted with emotions such as pain and anger, grief and worry. What did they want from her? It was Alorah who answered her. "You shouldn't be here." She spoke without moving her mouth. It unsettled Rosaline more than she would have thought. "The realm of the dead isn't meant for a living mortal such as you, my friend." Rosaline gaped. She called her friend, like she would when they were above. This wasn't just a dream... It had to be more than that. "So you finally see." Alorah smirked. Her eyes were as milky as they'd been the last time they'd met... when Rosaline had strangled the life out of her. "That is good. Then we can begin." Alaric suddenly pushed ahead of the pack. "Rosaline Eloise Haines, born 18 Moevying, Year 139 of the Fifth Age. Daughter of Corliss and Ransley Haines," he intoned. "You stand before the spirits of those you've made to suffer as a result of your own reckless actions. We present have come forward to judge—and punish—you accordingly." Alaric always did have a flair for the dramatic. She could see him grinning... until it became clear that his skull was showing through his flesh. It was Sacheverell who came forward next. "Some of us," he purred, "chose to involve ourselves and bear witness to your judgement... and provide mediation when necessary." His eyes bore into Alaric throughout the length of both their speeches. "Quiet." Alorah forced the others into submission with her presence alone. "We begin now." "Rosaline." She stood before her, the fog running like a cloak down her back. She looked beautiful even in death. There was a purpose in her movements. "You killed me and left my body to burn to ashes. I only wanted to help you and your children. Do you regret what you did to me?" The words left her mouth without her lips moving. "You tried to kill Ptolemy. You brought your father back against my wishes. You were fanatical and a danger to my'' family''! Alorah, you left me no choice." The halfbreed didn't appear fazed by her heated words. "Do you," she repeated, "regret what you did to me?" Rosaline couldn't think straight. The words felt compelled to utter themselves. "I... yes." It was the truth. No matter how hard Rosaline tried to hide or rationalise it, she deeply regretted taking her friend's life. It was an act of passion, borne of fear and madness. Alorah seemed satisfied with her answer. She smiled kindly at her and returned to the others. Another spectre soon approached her. It was none other than her old mentor, Fykeric Bliem. "Rosaline. You were my sister once; my student and successor. Like so many of our brethren, you worshipped Lord Zamorak and sustained the faith for nearly a decade." He gave her the same look he'd always given during their lessons together, followed by a soft reprimand for when she made a mistake. "Yet you renounced your beliefs so easily in spite of everything the order and I provided you. Why was that?" She knew this answer, and had come to terms with it long ago. "Power." Rosaline admitted. "You said so yourself. 'We must always strive to become better than what we are.' Under your guidance the order would have stagnated, died. I didn't want that. Ptolemos showed me what true power was and what it meant to be respected and feared." "I'd never found that with Zamorak," she added thoughtfully, "and wouldn't have beneath you." Fykeric accepted her answer with a solemn nod and withdrew quietly, his expression as dour as the day he died. And so it went. Ghosts from her past approached and asked their questions, leaving only when she gave them the truth. Out those there, Rosaline was most surprised to see Old Lady Sweeney, with that wicked toothy grin of hers on display. "You always liked my stories, little princess. Now I want to hear yours." She told her everything, starting with her childhood spent with Richie and ending with the events of the last few hours. The old caretaker expressed her thanks and, with a playful wink, rejoined the others. "Roz." Her heart skipped a beat. How long had it been since she'd seen her little brother? Since he was taken from her... "Please, don't get upset. I'm happy here. You will be to." "Richie," she began, "about Don..." Richard stole her voice with a single glance. "You lied to me, your little brother. Your family!" His words bit through her flesh like steel. "I understand why, Roz... but I can't forgive that you did. Not when it was about something that important." Rosaline didn't know what to say, let alone trust that she could even speak. Instead, she wrung her hands and studied her feet intently, feeling as though she were a child again. "You should have simply told me the truth," he stressed. "It would have been better to know." When Rosaline finally found her voice, weak though it was, she wept. "I wanted to protect you..." Her little brother sighed. "I know." Then Richie was gone. She lifted her gaze and met Sacheverell's own. He looked much prouder in death than he had in life; with his back straight and his piercing blue eyes, the half-icyene portrayed his race accurately. By his side stood Helisende, an icyene and his one true love. "Sacheverell," she croaked, "you look well." He cackled with amusement. Rosaline had never heard him laugh like that before. It was good to hear. "Better than before, you mean." She caught him glancing again at Alaric. No love lost there. "I'm proud of you, Seeker. You found Ptolemos, avenged his death and have done more for our cause than I ever did. You should be pleased with all that you've accomplished. But you're not." There was no point in trying to hide it. Not down here anyway. "It's never enough, Sacheverell. You've been through it before. I fight and I kill, but it's never enough." He moved closer and cupped her chin. It felt like ice. The Sacheverell she'd known up there never was this personal. He who was always so clinical, so distant... maybe his last words were true. "That was different. I'd given up everything for revenge and became weaker for it; my failures drove me to defeatism. You're stronger than that." Sacheverell stepped away, beaming sympathetically. "Who knows? Perhaps you're not meant to kill anymore. Heaven knows there's more ways than one to skin a skypouncer." With that, Sacheverell left her with Helisende. The noble icyene warrior regarded her coolly before leaning in to whisper, "Thank you." She then returned to her deceased beloved and awaited as Alaric, the last of the spirits, marched forward. "Rosaline Haines." His voice was low and dripped with undisguised malice. "Do you remember how you left me to rot in the temple ruins; to be eaten by the crows? I found no peace because of you... only an endless nightmare. How I cursed your name, until some witless goblin gnawed at my remains." "I then rose, slew him and used his stupid little fire to burn my bones and release myself. I was finally free." Beneath his visage, Alaric was more soul devourer than man. It frightened her. "You deserve what I went through and more. You deserve this place, Rosaline, and belong to those that dwell within this monster-infested hell." Murmurs of agreement swept through the spectres' ranks. Sacheverell rose his own voice in response. "Your own actions and intentions as Seeker were less than altruistic, Alaric," he countered. "You did poison me after all." Many of the ghosts near Sacheverell shuffled uneasily at this revelation. "This is her judgement, not mine!" Alaric fumed. "She's committed far too many injustices with her life. We the spirits demand retribution." "You don't speak for us all, Alaric," Sacheverell challenged, "but you are right on one account: someone will have their vengeance tonight." By the otherworldly light cast by their presence, Rosaline saw Sacheverell advance toward Alaric. She thought the two would come to blows until a command from Alorah Taredi gave them each pause. "Enough!" Even in death her power of suggestion was stronger than ever. Rosaline watched as Sacheverell reluctantly stood down. "He's right," she conceded, turning to address the half-icyene and his ghostly supporters. Alaric, smug as ever, tried to voice his approval, but was silenced by Alorah before he could even respond. "This is her trial; not yours, mine, or his." Her hard tone left no room for argument. Alorah's gaze eventually settled on Rosaline. "You may make your case before us, my friend. Speak, and know that the One True God shall heed your plea." So this was it. She should have known better than to believe her fate was anything but her own. Her mind recalled something she'd once said to a friend. Don't give them the chance to haunt you, she'd advised the druid, trying in her own way to absolve him of his survivor guilt. What a load of bullshit. "I... have nothing I say that you haven't heard already," Rosaline confessed absently, unsure of what she could say to them. Should she apologise for everything she'd ever done? Perhaps prostrate herself at the feet of her ghosts and beg forgiveness? Maybe their ruling would rid her of the guilt and pain she carried for her actions under Ptolemos' services and beyond. Outrage flared in her gut. She already knew their answer. Let it be done with. "Go on," she began. "Just say it." Alaric's voice rang out first, his voice shrill and vindicative. "With pleasure. Rosaline Haines, in light of your words and actions, I find you guilty." "Your punishment...," he jeered. "Oblivion." Alaric's supporters voiced their approval, many of whom she remembered from her days with the Hand of Ptolemos. It seemed Alaric had fans even in death. Opposite were Sacheverell and his backers, which included Helisende, her brother, and Old Lady Sweeney, arguing against it for her sake. They were more or less evenly matched as it were. It was the ghosts who kept between the two parties that concerned her the most though: Alorah, Fykeric, and... oh gods. Steven. A chill ran down Rosaline's spine. She and Steven had parted on bad terms. Although it was Yokrad's actions that gave him his mortal injuries, the druid had blamed her as died in her arms. She suddenly realised Steven wasn't among the spirits who questioned her. Did he still blame her for his death? She would have her answer sooner than she thought. Alorah Taredi, daughter of Ptolemos and priestess of Zaros; murdered in cold blood by Rosaline. The halfbreed smiled at her and joined the side of Sacheverell. It was a massive relief for Rosaline; at least she had forgiven her. Fykeric stepped up beside Alaric. She couldn't really blame him, but seeing her old mentor condemning her soul upset her greatly. The only one remaining was Steven... and he didn't even hesitate. "Then it's decided!" Alaric howled with glee. "Summon the beast!" The blood in her veins froze. Steven didn't even look in her direction as he and several of the spirits began dissolving into mist. Alorah looked upset; her brother, Richie, was horrified despite his confession earlier. They were gone before she could say goodbye. Old Lady Sweeney gave a solemn shake of the head and disappeared. Fykeric left as well, with little more than a nod. The only spirits left were Sacheverell and the one who had assured her devouring. Alaric watched her as the fogs departed behind her. Something large was approaching quickly. She thought the heavy footsteps sounded eerily familiar... "You've seen it before." His skull grinned wildly. "I believe it favours the Elid crocodile above all else for its power and viciousness in devouring its prey." "You deserve worse, of course. But one in my position can only hope that it hurts before the end," he quipped. His form started to become smoke, but then Sacheverell was on him in an instant. Instead of watching, Rosaline turned and saw behind her the monstrous crocodile soul devourer from before lopping toward her, its jaw snapping open and shut. She had no time to scream as the beast swallowed her whole. Rosaline awoke with a start. Her palms sweaty and chest heaving, she tried to roll onto her feet but found they wouldn't move. No... something else was wrong. Then she remembered her dream. She saw Ptolemy watching her from where he had kept watch, his expression sad and knowing. "That dream," she said, "was real, wasn't it?" "As real as you or I. Can you tell me what happened?" "You don't know?" "I do," he conceded. "But talking about it may help you come to terms with what happened." And so she told him everything, from the spirits to the soul devourer. She replayed everything in her mind the words came tumbling out; Sacheverell manhandling Alaric into the crocodile's mouth as it snapped shut over her legs. He spoke after all was said. "I'm sorry." "Sorry?" She couldn't help her voice from quivering. "You know what I've done. They said I deserved it." Despite being months since he'd died, Rosaline felt great guilt over Steven's death. Maybe it was justice for everything the druid had gone through. "Justice?" Ptolemy paced the temple ruins, his movements agitated as though something plagued him. "What do they know about justice? They've passed. I've passed. Whatever unfinished business of theirs can wait. You still have your life... "They have no right. What do they know about justice?" he repeated. Rosaline stayed silent through his tirade. She knew her legs wouldn't move again without his strength, but... something still wasn't right. What was it? Ptolemy knew the answer. "You're dying." He was calm again and sat beside her. A hand reached for hers, went through it. It was an odd sensation. Then she realized the sensation wasn't just there. It was throughout her body, like the start of a cold but much more intense. "Just as Alorah said, the realm of the dead isn't meant for living mortals. It will kill you if the beasts don't devour you first." "So I'm as good as dead." Hearing herself say it out loud didn't maek it any easier to digest. She cursed Yokrad, Drok, and her fate. "You're not dead yet. But you won't survive here." he explained. "The way I see it, you have two choices." "Your first choice is to make for the realm of the living." Ptolemy looked in the direction she had fled from the monsters. "The gates of the Underworld and the River Noumenon lie that way. However, we would need to face the soul devourers and fight through them. I can sense even more at the gates. They're being drawn there by Her." "Or you could try crossing the river itself. You're close to death, so perhaps your body might survive the currents. It wouldn't be any easier than the gates, mind you, and if you drown the river may claim your soul." "Better it than those monsters." she grumbled. Ptolemy smiled weakly. "Perhaps although there is another option..." Rosaline looked at him questioningly. He straightened and indicated past the temple walls and further into the Underworld. "You could make for the afterlife. With so many of the creatures making for the gates, we could slip past the worst of the hordes. You could find rest there and the comfort of an existence beyond the nothingness She would give you." "But..." Rosaline stopped, suddenly finding herself conflicted. If she was going to die down here, making it to whatever the afterlife promised sounded better than getting eaten trying to get out with her soul and body intact. Yet how could she abandon her friends and family on the surface? Would they even know the difference if she found an afterlife versus getting devoured? Would they care? "What about you?" Rosaline's question came as a surprise to even her. It was more selfless than what her thoughts had become down here in the Underworld. "Would you follow me?" Ptolemy sighed. She realized quickly what he would say. "Would that I could. But I'm afraid I can't leave this place whatever you choose." he revealed. "Lending you my strength has made me too weak. You'll need it all if you want to live long enough to see escape." The revelation was disheartening. Even if this thing wasn't Ptolemy, it brought back memories she didn't want to lose... especially to some monster in the dark. Rosaline vowed then and there that she would never let those things take her or her memories, which left only one option for them to take. "Choose quickly. Those creatures from before will reach us soon." "All right." Rosaline exhaled slowly. She would find some way to reach them, to apologize for leaving them behind. But her kids had people to look after them; Tiny Ptolemos, Serafino, and even Joe when he was sober. Amascut would not have her. "I've decided. We go for—" but even as the words left her lips, a bright red light exploded over them. Momentarily blinded, Rosaline struggled to see where the light had come from... and then saw it. From where the realm of the living met the realm of the dead, an image of a large three-fingered hand glowed crimson red through the perpetual twilight and purple clouds, illuminating the Underworld for all to see. Category:Blog posts